


i'll take care of you

by imyoursandthatsitwhatever



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Nightmares, Soft Billy & Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 08:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21194321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imyoursandthatsitwhatever/pseuds/imyoursandthatsitwhatever
Summary: It was weird for Billy, to be kissed so fuckinggently,when he was used to every touch leaving a mark or a bruise. Steve had just broken up with Nancy Wheeler; Billy thought he was just a passing phase, arebound,something to make the heartache sting a little less. Something Steve would use up and then discard when it no longer suited him.But for whatever reason, Steve didn’t forget about him.





	i'll take care of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiko/gifts).

> This is a gift for my lovely friend [Amiko](https://amikoroyaiart.tumblr.com/), who draws me beautiful art for my Billy & Steve fic!! 
> 
> This story is based on two pieces of art she made of Billy & Steve, which are included in the piece.
> 
> Thank you so much for everything you do for me, Amiko. 💕

\---

Billy’s eyes open blearily to the sound of his alarm—6:00 flashes blindingly at him in red blocky numbers as he slaps the snooze button. His room is freezing; he pulls the bedspread tighter around himself, his fingers splayed across the other side of the bed, the sheets cold to the touch and _empty. _

He fucking _hates_ this—hates Steve’s stupid parents for coming back from their trip a week early, hates the thought of Steve tossing and turning in bed alone without Billy there to hold him through it.

It had only been a couple months since this thing between them had really _started_; since Billy had pushed Steve into the bathroom at Tina’s party, backing Steve into the door and looking him in the eyes, and then down at his mouth, like it was a challenge—until _Steve _had leaned forward to close the distance, pressing his lips against Billy’s.

It was weird for Billy, to be kissed so fucking _gently_, when he was used to every touch leaving a mark or a bruise. Steve had just broken up with Nancy Wheeler; Billy thought he was just a passing phase, a _rebound_, something to make the heartache sting a little less. Something Steve would use up and then discard when it no longer suited him.

But for whatever reason, Steve didn’t forget about him. They would both purposely linger after basketball practice, taking too long to get dressed, until it was just Billy and Steve left in the locker room. Steve would gently push Billy into the lockers, breathing against his lips, whispering things like “_You looked good out there today,_” things that made Billy want to lose his fucking _mind_, before Steve would lean forward to kiss him, always so fucking _gentle_.

One day Steve slipped a note into Billy’s locker, _My place at 6? _with an address scrawled at the bottom. Billy had spent a stupid amount of time picking out an outfit and doing his hair, and Max had popped her head in his room to tease him and ask who the lucky girl was.

That night, Steve had opened the door, wearing a fucking baby blue cashmere sweater and looking like the sweetest thing Billy had ever seen. He’d hung Billy’s leather jacket carefully on the coat rack before gently tugging at the unbuttoned edges of his shirt, his eyes roaming over the bare expanse of skin.

“This for me?” he had asked, softly, as his fingers ran reverently down Billy’s exposed torso.

“I don’t know, Pretty Boy, you tell me,” Billy answered, a little breathlessly. He hadn’t known what Steve wanted from him then; all he had known was that he wanted to _see _him, and that he wanted to look good when he did.

“Come upstairs,” Steve whispered against his lips, taking Billy’s hand and leading him up to his bedroom.

He remembers kissing Steve that night in his ridiculously large bed, Steve’s hands gently anchoring themselves in Billy’s hair and Steve’s breathy little sighs filling the spaces between kisses. They had kissed for hours, and it never felt like it had to be _more_—it was perfect just the way it was.

They had fallen asleep, legs tangled together and Steve’s head pillowed on Billy’s chest. In the morning, Steve had put on a pot of coffee and kissed Billy for the entire time it brewed.

After that, Billy had gotten _used _to spending all of his nights in Steve’s bed with him. His parents were off on some great European trek, so Steve was always alone—and even when Billy’s dad roughed him up for being out too late, he made the drive to Steve’s anyway, knowing that he’d be waiting with ice, bandages, and a kiss for every bruise.

See, the thing is, Steve has _nightmares_. Billy remembers the first time he’d heard the screaming. He’d gotten up in the middle of the night to get some ice water, and during the time he was away, Steve had fallen into a particularly brutal one.

Billy rushed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, to find Steve thrashing wildly under the covers, wailing like a hurt animal. Billy took him into his arms and held him, whispering “_Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe_,” until Steve had woken up, dazed and confused, asking him what had happened.

They never talked about what happened in the dreams; that was the one rule Steve had, and Billy never pushed it. He knew Steve only had the nightmares when Billy wasn’t around—so every night, Billy took him into his arms, pressing Steve’s back tightly against his chest, and whispered in his ear, “I got you.” And Steve would always _relax_, burrowing under the covers and sighing contentedly, his thumb tracing lazy circles around Billy’s arm, until he fell asleep.

But then the Harringtons had come home unexpectedly, and well, things were shot to shit now. He remembers Steve’s face when he’d come up to Billy’s locker after practice to deliver the news, and Billy had known immediately something was wrong.

“Hey, what’s with the face?” Billy murmured, leaning casually against the lockers as the rest of the team packed up their things and filed out. Things had been fine this morning—They’d woken up together, a little bit earlier than usual, and spent the extra time reveling in lazy morning kisses. Steve’s tongue had tasted like his fancy Italian coffee creamer when Billy had kissed him goodbye.

“I went back to my place during lunch because I forgot my math book, and my fucking parents are home,” Steve said bitterly, his back hitting the lockers as he slumped over. Billy’s stomach grew cold; he knew what this meant. The Harringtons, being the rich assholes they were, had just installed some fancy home security system, which meant that there could be no sneaking in or out. Coupled with Steve’s stupid curfew, which his dad had set into place after he saw his last report card, they were pretty much screwed. 

“They’ll leave again, won’t they?” Billy asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He glanced around to make sure they were alone, and reached out to put a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Steve sighed, looking miserable. "They're heading back to Chicago for an art show or something in about a week. I just… I'm not gonna be able to fucking _sleep_."

Billy's chest ached at the look on Steve's face. His hands balled themselves into fists at his sides—if Steve wasn't standing there, his knuckles would have already punched a dent in the rusted metal of the lockers. He was tired of sneaking around, tired of Steve's parents' fucking _whims_ dictating the time they spent together.

"Tell me what I can do," Billy murmured, brushing his lips against the shell of Steve's ear. _Tell me what I can do to make it better. I'll burn down the whole fucking world for you, just say the word._

"Just promise me, the night they leave, that you'll be in my bed, hogging the covers like usual." Steve smiled at him, but it was a fragile thing.

Billy laughed softly before raising Steve's hand to his lips and dusting his knuckles with kisses.

"Try and keep me away, Harrington." 

\---

Billy hops out of bed, fumbling in the darkness for the light switch. The air in his room is cold enough to chill him to the bone; the December air leaks through a crack in his window pane that his dad refuses to fix. When Billy had suggested it get repaired, he’d been rewarded with a slap that had left his cheek red for days—Even so, Billy knows he'll hear about it when the heating bill comes.

He gets dressed quickly in the dark, pulling on dark wash jeans and a black Henley. His skin is buzzing, and he knows it’s because he didn’t get to see Steve all fucking weekend. He _knows _that Steve isn’t ignoring him—that his parents probably just kept him home with them all weekend for “family time,” or whatever crock of shit excuse they came up with.

Steve had asked Billy to meet him early on Monday morning—and honestly, all he wants to do is kiss Steve, so he can fucking _breathe _again. He had asked Max last night if she could have one of her friends pick her up for school, and shockingly enough, she hadn’t even argued with him or asked him why—she’d just gotten on her stupid radio and asked one of the shitheads to come get her in the morning.

Steve’s BMW is already in the parking lot when Billy pulls into a space at 6:20. He takes one last shaky drag from his cigarette before flicking it out the open door, grinding it into the pavement with his boot as he looks around the empty, dimly-lit lot.

He strides over to find Steve in the driver’s seat, head tipped back, fast asleep. Billy smiles, shaking his head, before rapping gently on the glass. Steve jolts awake and quickly rolls down the window, wiping at his mouth.

“Hey,” he rasps, and Billy doesn’t even bother responding; instead, he leans down to capture Steve’s lips in a greedy kiss. Steve jolts a little, surprised, but after a few seconds he melts into it, one of his hands reaching up to anchor itself in Billy’s hair. Billy hears himself sigh into Steve’s mouth, and he can feel Steve smiling against his lips.

“Nice to see you, too,” Steve murmurs as they pull away, pressing his forehead against Billy’s.

“Get your ass out here,” Billy mutters, his voice gruff with emotion, as he tugs on the locked door handle. Steve smiles at him, a soft, tender thing, before opening the door and slipping out, walking right into Billy’s outstretched arms. He holds Steve for a second, burying his face into Steve’s hair and breathing in the familiar smell of coconut from his girly fucking shampoo. Somehow, it smells like _home._

He kisses Steve’s hair before pulling away, putting a hand on Steve’s cheek. He looks _tired _\- His eyes are bloodshot, and the skin beneath them is grey.

“When was the last time you slept, pretty boy?” Billy murmurs, intertwining their fingers together. He takes a moment to look at Steve, taking in his soft emerald green sweater and the way his hair is falling into his eyes, and God, Billy’s just so fucking _gone_ for him.

“Don’t remember,” Steve admits, looking down at the ground and scratching at the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Nightmares?” Billy asks softly. Steve nods, looking pained.

“Come on,” Billy says, tugging at Steve’s hand and bringing him towards the Camaro. “I’ve got an idea.” Billy carefully leads Steve to the passenger seat; then, he starts up the car and pulls just out of sight of the school lot, parking in a dark spot that’s completely blocked by the tree line. He cranks the heat up and gets out of the car for a moment, wrestling around in the trunk. He can feel Steve staring at him as he opens the door to the back seat and lays out a pillow and some blankets over the seats. When he looks up, Steve is smiling at him, his eyes all fucking _soft—_it makes Billy’s breath stutter to a stop.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and shuts the car door behind him, settling onto the blanketed seat and reaching out for Steve’s hand. Steve clambers into the back seat with all the grace of a newborn fawn, his legs getting all tangled up over the console, and Billy laughs as he pulls Steve down onto the blankets with him. The seat is really fucking narrow, so Steve ends up on top of him. After gazing at him for a moment, Steve leans down to kiss Billy on the nose, and it’s so fucking _tender_ that Billy kind of wants to cry. He surges up to kiss Steve, burying his hands in his soft hair and tugging lightly. Steve moans into his mouth and God, does Billy _want._

“I’m not doing a very good job of letting you, but the point of this was for you to get a little bit of sleep, Harrington,” Billy whispers against Steve’s lips. Steve hums contentedly, his tongue licking lazily into Billy’s mouth.

“This is better than sleeping,” Steve murmurs, nudging Billy’s nose with his before gently placing a kiss on each of his eyelids.

And it’s all too fucking _much_—the heat of the car, Steve’s soft lips against his skin, the way Steve is looking at Billy like he’s _worth _something. Billy’s chest constricts painfully, like it usually does when he gets overwhelmed, and he quickly wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and rolls them over, pressing his spine tightly against the back of the seats and holding Steve to his chest.

He hides there for a second, burying his face into Steve’s neck and trying to get his emotions under control, before whispering, “Try to get just an _hour _of sleep, okay, Harrington? I’ll be here to wake you up when school starts, I promise. I’ve got you.”

Steve’s hands settle themselves on top of Billy’s, and Billy can feel the tension draining from Steve’s muscles as his body sags into the blankets. “I wish we could do this every night,” Steve confesses sleepily; Billy smiles against his neck.

“Me, too, Pretty Boy,” Billy says, when what he really wants to say is,

_Maybe someday we can_.

\---

By Wednesday, Billy is _truly _miserable. He’s barely slept; his room is freezing, there’s a spring popping out of his mattress, and all he fucking wants is Steve’s warm body next to him.

When he collapses into his spot at the kitchen table, Max eyes him warily over her pancakes.

“You look like shit,” she observes quietly. Neil’s in the bedroom, still getting dressed for work, and Susan is in the kitchen brewing his coffee.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Billy bites back, tearing into a piece of bacon. Max gazes at him for a long moment, and he fixes her with an annoyed stare. “Take a fuckin’ picture, it’ll last longer.”

“What’s eating you?” she asks, unfazed at his rudeness.

Billy sighs heavily, pushing his half-finished breakfast plate into the middle of the table and leaning back into his chair.

“I didn’t fucking sleep last night. Not sure if you _noticed_, but my room’s a fuckin’ arctic tundra. Any more questions?” he asks bitingly. He knows it isn’t fair to take it out on Max, but his eyes feel like they’re full of fucking _sand_, and his head is throbbing.

“Whatever, Billy,” Max replies flatly, picking up her plate and bringing it to the sink.

The car ride to school is completely silent.

\---

When Steve lingers behind after basketball practice that day, Billy doesn’t miss his chance. When everyone is gone, he comes up behind Steve, leaning down to press his lips against the back of his neck. Steve shivers, and it makes Billy _want._

“Hey,” Billy breathes against Steve’s skin; he watches as gooseflesh rises up in the spot his lips had been. “I hope you slept better than I did last night.”

Steve inclines his head back to look at Billy, and Billy takes the opportunity to capture his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. “I can’t even_ think _with you doing that,” Steve comments softly as Billy pulls away, an amused smile playing on his lips. When Steve turns to look at him, his eyes are bloodshot—it makes Billy want to burn the fucking school down.

“You didn’t sleep,” Billy says quietly, tipping Steve’s chin up and turning him around to face him. Steve shakes his head.

“You said they’ll leave sometime this week, right?” Billy breathes, backing Steve up into the lockers. He hears Steve’s breath quicken as their bodies press together; Billy’s heart jumps in his chest.

“Yeah, Friday,” Steve murmurs, “I mean, I _think_. It’s not like they ever bother to say goodbye.”

Billy tucks a stray hair back behind Steve’s ear before leaning in to kiss him again, soft and slow. Steve whines into Billy’s mouth, and it’s the hottest thing Billy’s ever heard in his damn life.

He’s never been great with his words, but Billy _knows _he’s good at kissing. He tries to pour enough of himself into the kiss so that Steve can take a little bit of him home—enough to get through the next two nights.

When Billy gets home and collapses on his bed, he notices immediately that his room is warmer. He walks over to the window and pulls back the curtain to see a piece of cardboard has been taped over the crack in the glass, secured haphazardly with a smattering of Wonder Woman Band-Aids.

He places a hand on the cardboard, smiling, and thinks about how people—_good_ people—like Max and Steve are always taking chances on him. He thinks he wants to be the kind of person that deserves them.

\---

The Harringtons finally fucking leave for Chicago on Friday morning, and Billy truly cannot handle himself. He’s in such a good mood that Max is suspiciously peering at him over her cereal.

“You’re weirdly happy this morning,” she comments, milk dripping down her chin as she takes a generous bite of Lucky Charms.

Billy smiles at her, which he can see _shocks _her, but he can’t bring himself to hide how fucking _great _he feels. Neil had left for work early, he’s got an early Christmas present for Steve wrapped up in his backpack, and he’s gonna fall asleep in Steve’s bed tonight, consequences be damned—So in truth, he’s on top of the fucking world.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been sleeping a little better since some _mysterious Wonder Woman-obsessed gremlin_ fixed my window,” Billy replies easily. Max turns pink, but she’s smiling into her cereal.

“Well, I’m glad I won’t have to deal with finding your frozen corpse in the morning,” Max responds casually, stirring some marshmallows around in her bowl.

Billy reaches over to ruffle her hair fondly as he gets up to start putting the dishes in the sink and rinsing them. He turns back to see Max, her hair a mess, staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

It’s going to be a good day; he can feel it.

\---

The parking lot has a lot more cars than he’d been expecting when Billy pulls up next to Steve’s BMW, so they can’t exactly kiss hello—but as Billy settles on the hood of Steve’s car next to him, he brushes Steve’s hand gently with his fingers, hoping it conveys the same idea.

Steve smiles crookedly at him, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “Am I going to see you tonight?” he asks softly, gently hooking his pinky with Billy’s, being sure to keep their hands out of sight of prying eyes.

Billy nods, his heart hammering in his chest. “I promised, didn’t I?”

Steve nods, looking ahead thoughtfully. Billy thinks of the present he has wrapped up in his bag for Steve, and he doesn’t see how he’s going to get through the next six hours without dying of anticipation.

The bell rings and Steve looks over at Billy, a sad tilt to his mouth. “I’ll see you later?” he asks, whisper-quiet. Billy fights the urge to lean over to kiss him with every bone in his goddamn body.

Instead, he reaches behind Steve, pretending to grab something from his book bag resting on the hood. His lips brush the shell of Steve’s ear and he whispers,

“See you tonight.”

\---

The day drags on torturously slow; when Billy finally sinks into his desk for his last class, Advanced English, he swears the second hand on the clock is moving backwards.

They’re nearing the end of their Greek Tragedies unit, currently studying a modernized translation of _Orestes_. He follows the page-turns dutifully as the teacher chooses pairs to read the lines out loud, only half-listening, until it’s his turn to read. He gazes down at the words on the page, and a gentle smile plays on his lips.

“I’ll take care of you,” Billy reads, softly.

“It’s rotten work,” Ramona Stein reads back. Billy doesn’t mind her; she’s less vapid than the other high school girls, and she has a tattoo of a rose behind her ear. He fixes his eyes on the petals as he replies,

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

\---

When the bell finally rings, Billy is out of his seat before anyone else, elbowing his way through the crowds of people clogging the halls and racing out to his Camaro. Steve is already sitting in the driver’s side of his BMW; when he sees Billy, Steve gives him a nod and a shy smile before peeling out of the parking lot. Billy gives him a slight head start, and then follows the familiar route.

Light flecks of snow are beginning to fall as he rolls up the driveway and kills the engine. He steps out of the car carefully, inhaling a long drag from his cigarette before letting it fall to the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. (He hopes that someday, Mrs. Harrington will step on it and get ash on her designer heels.)

His hands are shaking as he grabs the hastily-wrapped gift from his front seat. He holds it between his fingers for a moment, counting back from ten; and then, with a deep breath, he walks up to the door.

It opens before Billy can even raise his hand to knock. Steve is wearing a cozy, blush-colored sweater; the sleeves are so long that he has them rolled up over his wrists. His hair looks soft to the touch, especially as he runs his fingers nervously through it.

“Hey, come on in,” he says softly, opening the door wide and gesturing Billy inside.

Billy slips through the door, kicking off his boots and peeling off his leather jacket and button-up, leaving him in just a black muscle tee—mostly because he feels like he’s burning from the inside out.

He sees Steve’s eyes stray curiously to the newspaper-wrapped bundle in his hands, and Billy’s heart hammers uncomfortably against his ribcage.

“I, uh.... _ThisisanearlyChristmaspresent._” He says it too fast, and all at once, but Steve is smiling at him, already reaching over to pluck it gently from Billy’s hands.

Steve is quiet as he takes Billy’s hand and leads them over to the couch. He sits with the package reverently in his lap for a moment, Billy’s knee bouncing nervously, until Steve rips the newspaper open. Billy watches as Steve’s slender fingers close around the denim, and he lifts his head to meet Billy’s gaze with wide eyes.

“This is…” Steve begins, whisper-soft.

“Mine, yeah.” Billy watches as Steve gently fingers the fabric, running his thumb over the edge of the collar. “I thought…” Billy trails off, speaking more to the jacket than to Steve, “that if I wasn’t around, that maybe having it would uh, help you sleep.”

Steve stares at the jacket in silence; Billy can hear a clock on the wall loudly ticking the seconds away, and he’s suddenly worried that he’s made a huge fucking mistake.

But then Steve is surging forward, his hands coming up to place themselves gingerly on Billy’s cheeks as he meets Billy’s lips in a searing kiss. Billy nearly cries with relief, sighing contentedly into Steve’s mouth as he gently wraps his hands around Steve’s wrists, his thumbs rubbing at his pulse points.

Steve pulls away after a few extended moments, leaning his forehead against Billy’s and panting softly. “You… You gave me your jacket,” Steve whispers, his warm breath fanning against Billy’s face, “The one you wear, like, all the time. The one that smells like you. You gave me your fucking jacket, to sleep with if you’re not here.”

All Billy can do is nod; he doesn’t trust his voice right now. He thinks about how he wore the jacket around the house, how he sprayed it with his cologne, and how he even slept in it one night. So that it would smell like him. So that it would be soft, and lived in, and _comfortable_—for Steve.

_I’ll take care of you. _The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he’s _scared_. He’s scared to say them out loud—especially when he knows Ramona won’t be around to take the attention off of him with the next line.

Instead, Billy grabs the striped blanket from the back of the couch, gently pulling Steve down and covering them both beneath the soft fabric. He wraps one arm around Steve’s back and the other around his neck, pulling him in close and pressing a featherlight kiss to his lips. Steve hums, his eyes still closed as Billy pulls away.

“Don’t go,” Steve whispers, his eyes fluttering open to gaze up at Billy from where he’s nestled against Billy’s shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Billy murmurs into Steve’s hair.

“I don’t mean _now_,” Steve replies, pressing his lips onto the bare skin of Billy’s shoulder, “I mean, like… _in general_. I just… I want you around.”

Billy feels the heaviness of the moment, and he knows there’s fear in his eyes when Steve lifts his head up to look at him, but he swallows it back down—he’s fucked up too many times in his life, and Billy’s not about to fuck up the one thing he’s ever had that makes him happy.

“You askin’ me to be your fuckin’ _boyfriend_, Harrington?” Billy asks breathlessly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Steve blushes an enchanting shade of pink.

“No,” Steve says softly, his lips hovering so closely that Billy can taste every word, “I’m asking you to be with me. No labels, no bullshit. Just you, and me.”

_I’ll take care of you, _Billy thinks again, gazing into Steve’s eyes, brimming over with vulnerability.

“I know I have a lot of shit going on that you’d have to deal with—” Steve continues, mistaking Billy’s silence for hesitation.

_It’s rotten work._

_But it’s not. Not when it’s _ ** _you._ **

Billy places a finger on Steve’s lips, smiling at him. “Steve.”

He watches the shock cross Steve’s features—they both know it’s the first time Steve’s name has ever passed Billy’s lips.

“Is that… a yes?” Steve breathes.

Billy nods—he can feel something stinging at the backs of his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I want you around, too. I want you around all the fucking time.”

Steve leans up to press their lips together, and it feels _different _this time—like the world has tilted on its axis, but in the best fucking way possible. Billy tangles his fingers into Steve’s hair, tugging lightly at the roots, as Steve sighs into his mouth. Nothing has ever felt so fucking good, so _right_, than when Steve is kissing him like this. Like always, Steve is _gentle_—now, it’s something Billy thinks he could get used to.

Before they crawl into bed that night, Steve slips Billy’s denim jacket on—It looks better than Billy had ever imagined it would. Steve shuffles underneath the covers, sighing in contentment as Billy reaches out to pull him flush against his chest, gently kissing Steve’s temple and whispering, “Goodnight, Pretty Boy,” into his ear. Steve’s lips press themselves softly against Billy’s arm, and after a few seconds, his body relaxes and his breathing evens out.

For the first time since moving to Hawkins, Billy falls asleep with a smile on his face—because hearing Steve Harrington say _I want you around_ is the closest thing to _I love you_ that he’s heard in a long, long time.

\---


End file.
